


the fall

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: in the shadows [5]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Major plot spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: Celebrimbor is falling apart.  If Talion can't pull him back from the abyss, at least they'll fall into it together.  At least, that's what he thought.





	the fall

Celebrimbor was falling apart.

Talion could feel it; in his every breath, and every movement.  Since the creation of the “new” Ring, the elf had begun to shatter, breaking in slow motion like a cracked window pane.  He knew - and yet, could do nothing.  Every attempt to reason and to pull him back to earth went unheard, and with each passing day he felt the elf growing more and more distant.

Too much of his power, his self, had been lost, given up to the ring; yet, they couldn’t continue without it.  They needed its power; since its creation he had been faster, stronger, harder to kill and quicker to return from death.  The struggles were growing greater and he had to grow as well. 

Talion just wished it wasn’t at Celebrimbor’s expense.  It was a guilt that ate at his gut, as he watched helplessly, realizing that as the elf faded, his own doom came closer and closer.  He was at peace with that.

At least, if he couldn’t pull the elf back from the abyss, they would fall into it together.  He owed Celebrimbor that much.

* * *

He remembers laughter; the hoarse chuckle that raised the hairs on his arms and gave him reason to smile when he managed to drag it out of the elven smith.  Celebrimbor had never been a joyful person and death had only made him more grim.  But sometimes, Talion could make him laugh with a quick retort or a bold quip, saying things few in his life dared to say. 

Celebrimbor doesn’t laugh much, anymore.

He calls their soldiers, ‘the orcs’; often forgets the names of their generals, of Bruz and Ratbag and the others.  Even those who were there from the beginning, the first recruits who ever dragged themselves from Mordor’s mire and Sauron’s grip to seek salvation elsewhere.

He doesn’t care about Minas Ithil, barely manages to care about Baranor and Idril.  He doesn’t say “I told you so” when it falls, but it’s close.  The whole thing was a disaster - and in the aftermath, Talion realizes that his Celebrimbor, the Celebrimbor who laughed and lied and meant well even when he did wrong, was gone.

Sometimes he sneaks through.  They find elven artifacts scattered through Mordor and the elf makes comments that sound more like himself.  He can’t help but rag on the quality of the archers of other races, and every time it makes Talion smile.  There’s still a little light, a little of the elf left inside the wraith, and he clings to that.

Until the moment that the last shred of light vanishes.  Until Celebrimbor knowingly abandons him to die, to choke on blood and ash and dust.

He thought they would fall into the abyss together - even at his worst, Talion never imagined Celebrimbor would leave him to fall alone. 

* * *

 

Even after everything, even after the multiple betrayals and the hundreds of deaths and the slow drain of the elf’s morality into something empty and cold, Talion misses him.

His head feels empty.  It’s not a feeling he’d ever imagine having, but after almost two years sharing a mind, body, and soul with another, with one he truly loved, he can’t help but feel the emptiness like a vast ache.

His friends, his team try to fill it.  After the conflict, Idril and Baranor insist on staying for as long as he does.  Talion all but banishes them from Mordor, but the orcs refuse to follow that particular order - most of them like the two, after a tense period of adjustment, and the young mortals adapt quickly to their new team.  They move into the barracks of Minas Morgul, - he despises the name, but it hardly feels appropriate to call it by its right name anymore.  They move in, and when Talion tries kicking them out, Idril puts her foot down.

“This city was my home long before it was yours,” She spouted at him.  “We will leave when we are ready!”

Baranor laughed at the exchange, at her heated words and Talion’s shock, and his grin seemed to say he agreed with her.

The orcs follow Talion like shadows.  They were always protective, but now they are overwhelming.  Where before Talion always had backup, always had an extra bodyguard, now he is alone, and the orcs do their best to ensure that is not the case.  Talion argues the point - argues that he is still immortal, still deathless, but that they are one mistake away from the end.  None of them will hear it.

“D’ya really think you could reason with ‘em?” Ratbag, who agrees Talion should have guards as long as they aren’t him, shrugged.  “Bunch of shitheads, all of ‘em.  Might as well let ‘em do what they want, it’ll be easier that way.”

As much as he frets, as much as he fights them and pushes his weight around, Talion loves them for it.  It makes clinging to his humanity so much easier, to be reminded of all those around him who value it.

There are times he feels so - empty.  It was missing Celebrimbor at first, now it’s… something else.  Something growing, something dark inside him, a vast endless pit that keeps chewing away at the edges of him.  He finds himself standing on the outer walls for hours on end, not moving or speaking, until someone finds him to pull him away. 

He doesn’t need to eat, never has since he died.  But he enjoyed it.  Eating, sleeping, made him feel normal.  Now, he doesn’t even want to.  The desire is gone - and why would he?  It takes rations from the others, and wastes time he could use fighting Sauron.  The name sends a blaze of hatred through him, and the thought of Celebrimbor trapped in the monster’s snare yet again infuriates him.  He feels more, when he thinks about it.  When he thinks about Celebrimbor.

The years pass.  The orcs are long lived, when not killed in war; Idril is of those of Numenorian descent and remains young long into the years.  Baranor is not.  He ages, and grows weary faster, and the air of Mordor damages him.  He spends less time leading at the front and more planning in the fort, and Talion watches in detached surprise.

Aging.  Something that seems so far outside him now, something so normal, so natural, so out of reach.  He will never age, and never change.  He’ll just fade into darkness one day, become a wraith himself… the thought should be terrifying, but it isn’t.

He’s there, mentally.  He knows what he must do, and he does it.  But the feelings, the desires, are slipping like water through his fingers.  The worst part is, he knows he should care, but he doesn’t.  He sees the feelings on others faces, the concerns as he goes hours without speaking to anyone, as he disappears into the fortress’s darker corners for days, he sees the fear and the anger and dread, but he feels… nothing.

Still, he’s himself.  He is in control.  He’ll keep fighting for as long as that’s true.

Minas Morgul stands under the Bright Lord’s flag for sixty years.  Talion keeps the Dark Lord back, his orcs fight and bleed and die, and live their lives with him.  He watches them grow and change, take lovers and take partners, he watches orcs give birth to children for the first time instead of growing in vats.  He watches Idril grow taller and stronger, Baranor grow greyer and distinguished, watches them eat and laugh and train, and live.

And he is nothing.

They give him a little of it back.  Sometimes, he laughs with them, smiles, even makes love when the desire can be pulled out of him.  He fights, he struggles, he bleeds, but he does not live.  He is not alive.  He is empty, and it is growing every day.

* * *

 “Talion?”

He stands on the walls, looking out over the fields of Gondor, before Minas Tirith’s grand tiers.  The sun sets behind the mountains and paints a soft red over it all.  Idril repeats his name before he finally turns to her.

She’s glorious.  Tanned and scarred, long hair pulled into a tight bun.  She’s spent her whole life here now, years she could’ve lived anywhere else, outside of the shadow of Mordor.  Her eyes are harder than they were those long years ago, and it is his quest that put that hardness there. 

“Are you alright?”

He loves her.  It strikes him then how strongly he feels it - because he never feels anything.  And he suddenly realizes that someday he won’t feel it, he’ll feel nothing at all.  What will he do then?  When the inevitable comes and the ring overcomes him, the Dark Lord’s will reshaping him into something unrecognizable?

“It’s time.”  Is all he says.

She blinks.  “Talion, I don’t…”

He looks to Gondor.  It’s been sixty years, nearly a lifetime.  Dirhael would’ve been long grown, with children of his own by now. 

It’s been long enough.

“Empty the fortress.”  He says.  “Everyone is leaving Mordor.  Tonight.”

“What?”  Shocked, she follows him as he walks into the main corridor.  “Where will we go?”

“Anywhere.”  He says.  “Somewhere far from here.  You’ll have to split up, there’s far too many, an army of orcs will be quickly made a target.”

“We’re leaving?”  Orcs nearby hear him, and the rumors spread like fire.

“You are.”  He turns to Idril.  “I am not.”

Her look is shocked, and pained, and her eyes grow wet.  It’s the same look she had when her father was tossed lifeless onto the stairs of Minas Ithil.  He hates to do this to her again.  But then, her gaze grows hard, and some part of him is proud.

They pack up, and they leave, the fortress growing cold and empty in a matter of hours.  Talion waits.  He focuses on Idril, on Baranor, on his friends, he remembers their faces and their voices and how much he wants them to escape.  He focuses on that.   Stands on the wall, watching them leave, until no one is left.

The hours wane, and the faces and names and voices start falling through the cracks.  The air is cold.  He sits in silence and thinks of nothing.  Then he hears them.

The Witch King.  His master.  Servant to the Dark Lord - as he is.

So little of him is left that the thought causes no pain.  Only… he remembers Celebrimbor.  Celebrimbor is with the Dark Lord.  He hopes he sees him.  Maybe… they will be together now.

They take him to Baradur, to the top of the tower, to the Dark Lord’s presence.  He stands in the same black armor, with the same imposing figure, as the last time they fought.  (They fought?  When was that?). He kneels.

A hand cradles his chin, and it’s no longer armored.  “Ah, Talion,” The Dark Lord’s fair face gazes down at him with approval.  “It was only a matter of time.”  A quick flash of blue light escapes his eyes.  “Wouldn’t you agree, elf lord?”

Celebrimbor?  He’s here?  The spark of feeling strikes him for just a moment, and then something cold and dark erupts inside him, black armor spreads over his face and his skin, Talion has a moment where he is himself and he realizes what is happening and he panics in dread, and his eyes meet the Dark Lord’s and see that blue light and he wishes he could reach, just reach because after so long, he is so close -

The Nazgul bows his head in reverence.  When he stands, he has no name, and Talion is no more.

* * *

 Time has no meaning.  There is only his service to the Dark Lord.  He follows every command, and every order.  His life is bound to the ring - and then…

The ring is no more. 

He falls from his drake as Mt. Doom explodes, the ring slips from his fingers and vanishes, the wound on his neck reopens, he takes his first breath in so long, he thinks -

_Celebrimbor_ -

And falls to the earth below.

* * *

At the end of their struggle, Talion and Celebrimbor bled and died and gave up piece after piece of themselves, until all that was left was tatters that the Dark Lord seized for himself. 

When the Dark Lord was defeated, the fractured remains were set free.  Bright blue light fled Baradur in his final hours; Talion reclaimed his mind.

And the moment before he hit the lava, that blue light engulfed him again.

* * *

 He wonders what happened to them all.  To Bruz, to Ratbag, to the orcs and his generals, to Idril and Baranor and the rest.  He hopes they lived well.  He hopes the orcs, in spite of the world turned against them, found some manner of peace.

He hopes … Celebrimbor is at peace.

_Even after everything I’ve done?_   There’s a laugh. _You truly are a marvelous creature._

The man shifts, his gaze hazy.  “Cele…brimbor?”

The elf is there.  Talion comes to himself - realizes he is himself, for the first time in so long.  It’s like breaking the surface after drowning, like being trapped in pitch black sleep and awakening suddenly, not even realizing you’d ever been asleep.  He sits up, looks round to see an empty, peaceful meadow - a stretch of Gondor untouched by darkness.

“Where are we?”  He tries to stand and wobbles.  “How did we - how did you?”

‘The Dark Lord is dead.’  Celebrimbor sits across from him beneath a tree, arms on his knees.  ‘I was set free the moment he passed; once the power from the ring faded, you began to die once again.  I seized your body before you could.’ His gaze downturns.  ‘I realize I… have no right, after everything, to keep you from death and your family again.  Yet … I could not help but hope, desperately, I still had a chance to set things right.’

Talion can hardly believe his ears.  Can hardly believe anything, that he is himself, that Celebrimbor is here, the Dark Lord is dead.  He stumbles like a newborn to the elf, who stands to help him, their bodies connected once again - the holes inside him, the emptiness where his own self was, where their bond was, is filled, and Talion could cry from relief.

‘Talion.’

“You laughed.”  A laugh of his own escapes him.  It’s short and staggered but breathtaking.  “You laughed.”

Celebrimbor meets him halfway as Talion stands to run to him.  He cries.  He falls against the elf, who slumps to the ground, holding him, and he cries with joy. 

It is over.

 


End file.
